The Holly and the Ivy
by Captain Fracas
Summary: General Veers is the last person anyone would expect to walk down the halls humming Christmas carols, and Admiral Piett is adequately shocked. As the General's sudden cheer begins to spread through the Executor, what will the admiral (and the resident Sith Lord) do? Set between Episodes V and VI, slightly AU - I've let Veers both live and keep his legs after Hoth. Also, Christmas.
1. With Every Christmas Card I Write

The Executor slid silently through the stars, a symbol of the Empire's power, the greatest since the destruction of the Death Star. It was an unforgiving behemoth, quick to dismantle anything that crossed it's master's will. On the outside, it was a staggering eleven-mile long giant. On the inside it was cold and sleek. The halls were direct and unadorned, polished alusteel gleaming proudly as officers and troops worked within for the glory of the the Galactic Empire.

General Veers walked down these halls with a spring in his step and a stack of small envelopes in his hand, a quiet hum escaping him as he went. Finally, at the end of the hall, he came to a stop, turned to the door on his right and, taking a small magnet from his pocket, pinned up one of his envelopes. He proceeded to move backward up the hallway, pausing to repeat the action at each door.

Admiral Piett emerged from one of these and stopped, confused by the music floating quietly through the air. No one, to his knowledge, went through the Empire's greatest battleship humming. Slowly he turned to investigate, and he hardly managed a response to the fact that Veers, of all people, was the source. He tilted his head. "Are you...humming Christmas carols?" he asked, walking over curiously.

"Of course, it's Christmastime, isn't it?"

The bluntness of the statement struck Piett dumb for a moment. "I suppose..."

"You suppose?" Veers looked to him sidelong and raised an eyebrow.

"You're just the last person I'd expect to be celebrating Christmas."

"Oh, nonsense," he replied, shaking his head.

"My thoughts exactly..." he muttered with a quiet, wry chuckle.

"Just what is so amusing about Christmas?"

"Ironic, isn't it?"

The general's brow furrowed. "Christmas ironic?"

"Christmas is the one day of the year we're supposed to be with our families and friends, toasting a cup of good cheer to everyone, and yet here we sit, blasting each other to smithereens a million miles from home on a warship." He shook his head.

Veers stopped his pinning for a moment and stared at his comrade. "My goodness, you are a downer, aren't you? Come now, it's Christmastime; at least try to have a bit of cheer!" he cried, returning to his task.

Piett only shook his head, bemused. "What in the galaxy are you doing anyway?"

"Pinning up Christmas cards." He held one out to him. "Here." But he changed his mind and withdrew it. "...No, never mind; I want you to read yours later." He continued on his way instead and quietly resumed his humming.

Piett followed along for a bit, too curious, perhaps, for his own good, and watched him, amused that he seemed to be handing these things out to everybody, including the people he outright disliked.

"You're a rather lovely tenor."

Piett blinked and turned to him. "What?"

"Didn't you notice? You've been humming along for the last verse or so!"

"Oh, rubbish."

"You have, and you are." There was a note of finality in the statement.

Piett opened his mouth to protest, but the name on the next card stopped him short. "Lord Vader? You've made a card for Lord Vader? General, have you gone mad?"

"What in heavens do you mean?" Piett looked to him incredulously. "I see no reason why he doesn't deserve a bit of Christmas as well."

The admiral raised both eyebrows, yet again bemused. "If he doesn't want this, you're done for. So will end the tale of General Veers."

"Nonsense." Just as he spoke, the Sith Lord came around the corner, and before the admiral could stop him, Veers jumped at the chance. "Ah! Lord Vader!" He was loud enough, thought Piett, for the entire ship to hear. "I was just looking for you. Here." He handed him the envelope.

The admiral hung back, wanting to keep his distance as the general faced his final moments. He didn't want to be next.

Vader took the envelope and considered it for a moment, turning it over in his hand. "What is this?"

"It's a Christmas card, m'lord. After all, we're headed into December now."

The Dark Lord stood silently for a few moments, staring at the item in his hand. "Thank you," he said simply. He then continued on his way.

Veers watched him go and then turned around to face the admiral with a smug smile. "Ha!" he cried as he headed over, "and double ha, my friend." He continued his pinning.

Piett only shook his head. "I don't understand; I thought you were done for. I was certain he was going to squeeze the life from your throat."

Veers looked to him with a frown. "Nonsense, it's Christmas! This is no time for strangulation."

Again the admiral could only shake his head. "Yes, well, you know that, and I know that, and, General I'd even wager that he knows that, but to be perfectly honest, I rather doubt he cares."

The general didn't look at him as he spoke, continuing on. "Oh, balderdash, he has a heart too, you know."

Piett looked off, for a moment, to where the Sith Lord had disappeared. "_That_ is debatable, and you had better not let him hear that you think so," he warned.

Veers grinned a bit. "Admiral I think I already have."

Piett looked to him for a moment, worried not only for his mental health, but also his physical well being. "I would tread carefully if I were you," he remarked quietly, turning to go.

To this the general responded simply with a chuckle.


	2. City Streetlights, Even Stoplights

"For your own sake, General, put this Christmas nonsense to bed."

Though he seemed content not to trouble the Dark Lord any further, the general was rather persistent in his celebration of Christmas, much to the chagrin of Admiral Piett. It was silly, thought the admiral. What, precisely, did they have to celebrate? To make matters worse, Veers had made a habit of poking fun at this attitude of his, and he'd begun calling him "Ebeneezer." He seemed to think the admiral had earned it, and perhaps he had; Piett tried for nearly a week and a half to persuade him to let this silly whim go.

"What in Heaven's name do you mean?" he responded. "I haven't bothered Vader in nearly a week now."

"He knows you're at it, Veers."

"He seemed perfectly alright with it before."

"You're going to rely on the stability of one of Lord Vader's whims?"

"You worry about your health, and let me handle mine, would you?"

Finally, after several talks of relatively the same nature, the admiral was forced to give up. He didn't have the time or the patience to bother. "Fine then," he sighed to himself, walking toward the bridge one morning, "let him do as he will. So long as he keeps it to himself, who am I to stop him?"

Once he arrived, he took his position on the bridge as usual and tried to push the general out of his mind, but something grabbed his attention. It wasn't a very loud noise, but it wasn't a part of the usual buzz. Someone was humming. He looked around quickly for the source, and his eyes rested on the captain just as the realization hit him. "Kallic!"

The captain stopped and glanced up to him sheepishly. "My apologies, sir..." He cleared his throat. "General Veers has rather got it stuck in my head."

Piett was clearly unamused. "Focus on your work," he said sternly. The captain quickly went back to his job. It seemed the general wasn't one for keeping things to himself. He shook his head. One man humming Christmas songs was not enough to warrant concern. After all, he'd said it was an ear worm, and Kallic was generally a hard worker; he could give him the benefit of the doubt.

A few days later, it became evident that it had not simply been an ear worm. The number of musically inclined crew members had been growing steadily, and to make matters worse, Lord Vader hadn't made a single remark on the matter. It was almost as if he didn't hear it. It never did get exceedingly loud, never to a forte. It was quiet, but it was always there, pretending to be unobtrusive and slowly working away at the tidy atmosphere. By the time day five had passed, Piett could stand it no longer. The second he got the chance, he headed out of the bridge at a brisk walk, bristling even before he made it to the general's door. Once he arrived, he gave a few quick knocks and waited impatiently for his greeting.

"Enter," called the general.

Piett stepped in with every intention of scolding him like some naïve private, but the words never made it out of his throat. He was too shocked for words. "Veers? What in the-"

"Do you like them?" he asked, smiling and looking up and around at his decorations. "I had to improvise a bit, but I think they've come out nicely."

"What are they?"

"Turn signals!" And indeed they were. Hanging about the perimeter of the room, only about an inch from the ceiling, was a wire strung with blinking red and orange turn signals.

"Where did you get them?"

The general shrugged. "Well, we have this enormous garage down in the lower levels, and we certainly didn't need so many, so-"

"You stole turn signals to decorate your office?" The admiral was aghast.

Veers held up a finger to stay him. "Now, now, I did not steal them; I borrowed them. I have every intention of putting them back."

Piett couldn't even respond for a moment. Finally he spoke, pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stem his growing headache. "I take it you didn't tell anyone you were 'borrowing' them."

Veers shrugged. "I didn't see a reason to."

Piett breathed a long sigh through his nose. "You've 'borrowed' turn signals to decorate your office for Christmas...Veers do you have any idea how much you're disrupting things?" he asked, finally looking back up to him.

"Oh, come now, Ebeneezer, now how is this disruptive?"

"Don't you call me that, and you're corrupting my bridge crew."

The general's face crumpled in confusion. "Corrupting?"

"They can't even focus on their work; they're too busy humming your silly songs!"

Veers shook his head. "They're not _my _silly songs, admiral; I may not be young, but I'm not _that_ old."

"Don't change the subject."

"Alright, fine, but how is their singing keeping them from their work? Are you telling me they can't do both?"

"General, it's destroying the work environment."

"Oh nonsense, it's creating a new one that's all, one that's slightly lighter than it's predecessor."

"We are in the middle of a war, Veers; life isn't light."

"Oh calm down; it will pass. You've only got to put up with it for-."

"General!"

"Well, what exactly am I to do about it? They're your men! If it bothers you so much, you control them. It's not like I sent them in there humming just to bother you, lovely an idea as that is. I can't stop them."

Piett glared at him. Did he think he hadn't been trying? He'd brought them back into line six times now, and it didn't seem to be making a bit of difference. What was he to do? Subject them to disciplinary action? For what? Insubordination? A petty reason at best, and he couldn't just suspend the entire bridge. He spoke quietly, though the glare remained intact. "You could stop all this nonsense and stop influencing them. You're leading by example, and you know it."

"Of course I am, I try to lead by example every second of my life. I am a father, you know; you get into the habit after a while. Of course, you're not a father, so perhaps you don't know." He shrugged. "The fact remains."

The admiral, fearing that his teeth would crack if he grit them any harder, finally breathed a long, exasperated sigh through his nose, closing his eyes as he did. "Fine then, play your little game, and when the Rebels blow us to bits because my bridge can't focus long enough to fire a blaster cannon, don't blame me." That said, he turned on his heel and walked out, more frustrated now than when he came. "Blast that man," he muttered.

Though Piett said nothing upon his return, word of the admiral's frustration gradually filtered down through the crew, and the place slowly fell back into silence. Whether or not this normalcy prevailed when he wasn't in the room, he didn't know, and he wasn't sure that it really mattered, so long as the Rebels didn't start an attack while he wasn't there. He would be certain to be there.


	3. Go Tell it on the Mountain

The idea of the situation getting worse was not one that had occurred to the admiral, but apparently it wasn't enough for Veers to decorate his own office and chip away at the working environment on the bridge. Piett was beginning to notice something as he went about his daily routine. Things were changing ever so slightly. He almost thought he was imagining it for a while, paranoid, perhaps because of the bridge crew incident, and then one day he something caught his attention.

Piett had been having a relatively quiet day, and he was traveling with his nose to a clip board when it happened. Perhaps that was what allowed him to see it. Something bright snagged his peripheral as he rounded a corner, and when he looked up to it, it gave him pause. It was a simple thing, a tiny little decoration affixed with nothing but a piece of tape. He wouldn't even have noticed it except that it was red. A singular, small piece of holly had been simply taped to the door. The admiral leaned in to examine the piece. "What in the blazes?" he wondered aloud, gently lifting the decoration to peer at it. "Why would-" He blinked. It was then that the plant's connection to the season clicked, and he shook his head, letting it fall back into place. Mildly frustrated, he continued on. Perhaps he wasn't just imagining things.

A week later, his thoughts drifting along a similar path, the admiral was making his way to lunch. The top officers mess should have been the one place aside from his own quarters and the bridge where he could get a bit of peace, and indeed the meal started pleasantly enough. He stood in line and got his food, and he was just about to take his tray to leave when something caught his eye. "What in the galaxy are those?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

The cook behind the counter followed his gaze and then grinned a bit. "Christmas cookies, sir. Would you like one?"

Piett closed his eyes for a moment, exasperated. He couldn't even go get a meal anymore. "No, thank you." Shaking his head to himself, he found a table against the far wall. He'd gotten himself a headache already, and he wasn't particularly in the mood to socialize. At least, he thought to himself, this "little bit of cheer" was optional. He wasn't forced to tolerate this like he was the distraction of his crew and the little decorations cropping up everywhere. This was pleasantly ignorable.

He sat and ate his meal quietly for a while, letting his mind wander over the latest reports of rebel activity. It wasn't until he'd finished that he let his mind wander back over to Veers again. He picked it up his napkin absently but he blinked as he caught sight of it. Firstly, it was blue, secondly it had a large white snowflake in the middle. Slowly the admiral grew very wide eyed. Then he noticed the decoration in the middle of the table. A tiny evergreen tree camped in its miniscule pot, staring innocently up at him. He stared at it for a moment, but he couldn't seem to find a reaction. Without another word he got up and left.

Of course, Veers never was one for subtlety, and the fling didn't last long. The next afternoon Piett found a flyer on his desk. 'Music, food and presents!' it shouted in large, boldface type. 'Celebrate the season on the twenty-fifth, lounges 301-399, all invited.'

Piett battled the incredible the urge to crumple it. He didn't even bother storming down to the general's office this round. Instead he walked, looking rather tired, and simply knocked on the door. This, he thought, spoke for itself. He didn't even give the general time to greet him once he was given permission to enter. "You don't think this is going too far?" He held up the flier and raised one eyebrow.

"Well, hello to you too." Veers hadn't looked up to him yet; he seemed to actually be doing some sort of paperwork for once. When, finally, he looked to see what the other man meant, he grinned at the sight of it. "Ah, good, you've gotten the flier. No, I don't see why this should be going too far."

"Consider it for a moment, General. You are one of the most feared men in the galaxy. If you go through with this, you're going to ruin your reputation. You're going to loose the respect you've put yourself through years of excruciatingly hard work to get."

"Balderdash."

Piett crossed his arms. "Just how so?"

"Everyone else wants one just as badly as I do; I'm nothing but the man with the position to pull it off. You're over everyone else." He smirked.

"Vader," he reminded him dryly.

Veers put up his hands. "I don't know if you've noticed yet admiral, but I don't think he honestly minds...And that's bothering you an awful lot, isn't it?" He couldn't help but grin as this realization hit him. He leaned forward with his elbows on his desk and his hands clasped before his mouth, looking rather pleased with this idea.

Piett sneered a bit. "I don't know what's going on with his Lordship. I'd have thought for certain you'd be dead over all of this by now, but you haven't received so much as a warning. I don't understand...What have you done?"

"Why, I've done nothing but celebrate the season," he said quietly, still grinning. "If the feeling spreads, the feeling spreads; none of that is up to me. The things I do may be stupid and illogical; they may be curious and tolerable, or they may be a gesture of kindness in good cheer, but none of that is up to me. I perform the actions; the other people who watch me, they're the ones who interpret it and allow it to spread. They choose to take it on; I can't force them to."

The Admiral stood silently for a moment. "And when it spreads that the most successful general in the Imperial Army is hosting a Christmas party, what will they think then?"

Veers only shrugged. "I don't know; I haven't the foggiest."

"You don't care what happens, do you? It couldn't bother you less what other people think of you and your ridiculousness."

"Well, not really, but that hasn't so much been the point. It's Christmastime, Piett. We need a bit of cheer around here! I think you might need it most of all. Lighten up! Enjoy the season!"

The admiral only shook his head. "Alright, let's forget about your position for a moment then, shall we? How about the rest of the crew who decides to attend this event. Who's going to be left to run the ship, Veers? Are you going to contact the Rebels and call a truce for the day? Or perhaps you intended to invite them over for a spot of cocoa with the rest of us."

The general only shrugged. To tell him that, yes, he had full intention of contacting the Rebel forces for a momentary truce would likely only send him into a fury. Best to keep that bit to himself for now.

Piett breathed a sigh. "It's nonsense, Veers, but if you want to ruin your position, then I suppose I have no right to stop you. My apologies for interrupting your day." He turned and left without another word. What in the galaxy he was doing with his men these days, the admiral had absolutely no idea.

As he headed back to his office, slowly sliding back into a less irritable train of thought, he wondered – he couldn't help but wonder – why Vader _had_ been so quiet on the subject. It wasn't as if he was participating in Veers' shenanigans, so it couldn't truly be said that he approved; indeed, if his mood lightened at all from his usual irritability, the difference was imperceptible. On the other hand, he didn't seem to be outright bothered by it like he was, which Piett found the strangest of all. It was almost as though he was willingly ignoring it. This man who was as likely to kill you as he was to inhale was choosing to completely ignore this holiday foolishness. No, perhaps that wasn't the strangest of all. Perhaps the strangest of all was the way he would occasionally stop and tilt his head at some decoration or posted Christmas card. It was almost as if the whole thing was new to him. He couldn't help but smirk at the idea. Perhaps it was. After all, what reason would a man like Vader ever have to celebrate a holiday based around kindness and giving?

A few days later, the admiral was on his way to the bridge, feeling calmer than he had in the past few days despite everything. In fact, the general wasn't even on his mind that morning as he stepped into the room. The first thing he noticed was the lighting: there was a haze of red in it. His brain jumped immediately to an emergency, but there were no alarms. He paused a moment, blinking, and he slowly lifted his gaze, discovering the source of the lighting. He was struck nearly dumb. "Stars..."

"No, no stars, didn't even set them blinking. I thought you might like it better that way, less distracting for your men."

The admiral whirled on him. "Veers!" He was yet too shocked to be angry.

"Don't you like it? I think it's lovely; look what it's done to the lighting in here, and besides, your men all seem to like it." Indeed, the number of smiles in the room was exponentially higher than usual. "And, I think it will do you a bit of good."

"Wh- what have you done?" Then he turned on the general and spoke quietly, though his anger was evident. "Are you actually attempting to sabotage us?"

Veers only chuckled and laid a hand chummily across his shoulders. "Oh, balderdash, why would I do that? I live on this ship, you know."

Piett continued to glare. "I have to admit to you general, I'm still trying to work that out."

Just then they heard the door open, and Vader walked onto the bridge, reacting in much the same manner the admiral had.

Piett glanced to Veers, silently wondering how much longer he would be standing there. Surely Vader couldn't just ignore this.

Vader proceed to do just that, walking to his usual position and giving a nod to the officers as he passed. "Gentlemen."

Piett had to fight hard not to let his jaw drop. Nothing: no anger, no reprimand, not even an acknowledgment. Confounded was nowhere near a strong enough word.

"Well? So? I was considering adding a few snowflakes next, but I wasn't sure if that would perhaps be too busy with all the equipment in here."

The general's words pulled him back to reality, and Piett, glared at him hard. "Don't you have other things to be doing?" he sneered, pulling away from him.

"Oh! Quite right; suppose I should be off then," he said, slapping him on the back and taking his leave.

Piett remained silent. He didn't know what he was off to do, and he didn't want to know.


	4. God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen

It wasn't until a week later, coming out of his office one afternoon, that Piett realized he should have asked just what Veers had been off to do, and he discovered exactly what he'd been doing with his men. A barrage of paper snowflakes covered the hallway, and larger decorations, cutouts of snowmen, Alderaanian deer, and other such nonsense, were scattered throughout the virtual blizzard. Piett's eyes were huge and he couldn't keep his jaw from dropping. What was his life coming to? He wondered the question again as a small group of stormtroopers walked by in top hats and thick capes singing "Ding-Dong Merrily on High" in solid four part harmony.

"Veers..."

"Ah, there you are; how do you like it?"

The admiral jumped with a small yelp. Evidently, he'd been quite close by. "What in Heaven's name have you done now?"

"Redecorated a bit, isn't that obvious? Oh! You mean the troopers. Sound good, don't they? Bob's been working so hard, and Fred is just a natural." His grin was huge.

"Veers! Those are our soldiers! They're meant to fight for us, not sing for us!"

"Where do you get this logic that multitasking is so utterly impossible? I assure you, their singing has not wiped the ability to fight from their brains. Give them a bit of credit man, there's more room up there than you assume."

"They need to be practicing their battle maneuvers, not Christmas carols!"

"A week and a half's worth of practice?"

"General!"

"You didn't want me distracting your men, so I thought I'd use my own instead. Stars, man, will nothing satisfy you?"

It was at this point that the man with usually unshakable composure lost it entirely. "General, this is the last straw! You are positively insufferable! Enjoying the season yourself, I could tolerate, the minor distractions and little decorations were seldom more than irksome, but blast it all, Veers you've now put the ship and everyone on it in outright danger! You've got every man in the crew so lightheaded with the Christmas spirit that no one can focus, not to mention your blasted turn signals everywhere; you're pulling people from their jobs for your blasted party; you've kept the troops from practicing their actual techniques, and now you've taken the liberty of ensuring that not a single man on the ship can take his job or his life seriously by tacking up these confounded snowflakes at every turn – a waste of paper, I might add!"

Veers' temper flared as well, and he found himself just as angry as the admiral. "Firstly, every single one of these 'confounded snowflakes' is made from documents set to be destroyed, thank you. Secondly, why, for Stars sake, are you so against Christmas?"

"Because where I come from, we don't celebrate silly things in the middle of a rough time! It's pointless. It doesn't change anything; it doesn't actually make anyone any more kindly than they were before; it is nothing but a distraction. It's a child's game. Children get presents so they can believe for a tiny moment in their life that things aren't so bad; do you know why? Because they're too young and naïve to understand that that isn't how life works. Why am I so against it? Why are you so for it?"

Veers was silent for a moment, simply glaring at him. "Look," he said at last. "I know the feeling. I've had it rough too. I lost the woman I cared about the most in my life; I lost a year of my life crashed on Yavin IV and forced to survive on a Rebel infested planet with nothing but some spare rations and Stintarils; I was stationed on a planet that revolted _while_ I was on it. I lost my _son_ to the rebel recruitment officers, and Goddammit, I'm getting old, and I want my Christmas! With every bit of horror I've been put through, a few weeks of cheer in December isn't so much to ask! And if you don't like it-" here he paused, grabbed the man by the shoulders and twisted him around before shoving him away, "then you can go sit by yourself on the bridge!"

With a grunt, Piett found himself stumbling forward and fighting hard to keep himself off the floor. Fine then, he thought with an angry snort, let him do as he would. When they got blown to bits, he'd know who to blame. Then he'd see. A pity they'd have to lose so much first. The admiral walked away in a huff. He didn't know where he was going, but he was going. Anywhere to be away from Veers and his confound, idiotic Christmas.

He walked in a brooding silence for a while, heading along at a good clip, but at length his mind began to ease, and his pace began to slow. He sighed quietly to himself. The halls were beginning to empty, people no doubt headed to Veers' gathering. He snorted again. Cheer nothing, just a bit of distraction; that was all. It didn't change anything. Maybe it raised the spirits for a short while, but things always fell back into place afterward. In the long run, it had no effect, and what was the point in celebrating something if nothing had been accomplished or changed? Certainly you would feel better for a time, but only ever for a time. Briefly he wondered if perhaps the feeling hung over for a bit, but what did it matter even if it did? He blinked once. People worked better when they felt better; Piett knew that better than anyone, fighting at times to keep his crew from despairing entirely. Still, wasn't this going too far? The admiral drifted to a halt. Perhaps the old codger did have a point...a reputation destroying point, but a point.

Peitt leaned himself against the wall, thinking slowly, one eyebrow raised. "Well, Firmus, now perhaps you've done it. Bloody fool, you are..." He sighed through his nose, but he shook his head. Christmas nonsense.

He wandered into the bridge quietly, feeling he had little else to do. Slowly he looked around. The room was lit only by softly glowing Christmas lights now. He wasn't sure whether to be irritated, or if it, perhaps, had a somewhat soothing effect. He stood quietly for a while, lost in thought, but finally he sighed, dropping his gaze from the windows to the floor. What he saw there shocked him. Sitting just as quietly, legs dangling over into the abandoned crew pit, was Lord Vader, looking at a small card curiously. Piett's first instinct was to keep his distance, but as he watched the Sith Lord quietly pondering the item in his hand, something compelled him to move just a bit closer. Slowly he walked over to him, sitting in the walkway to his left. He was quiet for a few moments, unsure of what to say, but his commanding officer looked up at him for a second before returning his gaze to the card. He flicked his wrist a little, slapping the card gently against his other hand, but he remained silent, save the ever present sound of his respirator.

Finally, Piett broke the silence, a bit tentatively. "Did you ever...celebrate Christmas, sir?"

Vader was quiet for a moment more, but finally he answered. "A very long time ago."

Piett heard something in his voice that was altogether foreign. The voice was one of a man who was infinitely tired, worn, one might say. The admiral was almost surprised...and yet... "Well, I myself was simply stopping in to see how things were going in here, though it would appear that everyone's already left. I was just on my way to the top officer's mess. General Veers has set something or other up in there...Perhaps you should accompany me, get reacquainted with this Christmas business."

Vader looked up to him slowly. Was he actually considering it? Piett couldn't help but wonder.

"After all, if one of the Empire's strongest generals can plan all of this and hold a reputation in tact...Well, I don't suppose there can be too much harm in it."

Vader was still a few seconds longer and then slowly got to his feet. "Perhaps, admiral, you are correct. Come. We are late." With that, he headed out of the bridge, Piett in tow, and the admiral let, for a short moment, a very small smile cross his face.

Moments later they came to the mess, and Vader halted, pausing for just a moment. Piett, behind him, glanced up, for once knowing exactly what was happening behind that mask. "I'm certain the other officers will be grateful for your company, m'lord..." Vader said nothing and headed through the door.

When the two entered, they drew, naturally, the attention of those closest, but to their mutual surprise, their entrance also drew a small cheer and several exclamations of simply how glad people were to see them. Piett glanced to the Sith lord, and an infinitesimal movement of the Dark Lord's helmet told the him that the action had been returned. Slowly they were moved further into the room, and before long they found themselves presented with two brightly wrapped boxes. Neither one was entirely sure what to do for a moment, but at last they heeded the cries to open them.

Lord Vader went first, tearing away the bright paper and carefully removing the lid, sliding it underneath. Slowly, all movements indicating a tentative confusion, he drew out the item within. When he'd drawn the whole of it from the box, the bright red velvet item hung down from shoulder height nearly to the floor, and they found it was trimmed on the bottom with some sort of white, fur-like material. The Sith lord stared at the item for a moment then silently he swung it around his shoulders, hooking the gold chain about his neck. A small cheer rose up from the crowd, and the festivities continued.

Forgotten in the stir over Vader, the admiral worked his way quietly out of the crowd and over toward the edge of the hall where there was a bit of room to move and think. There he quietly leaned against the wall and looked at the little box, a small smile on his face. The thing couldn't have been bigger than a good sized jewelry box, and he half expected to find a watch inside. With a quiet chuckle, he tore open the paper and lifted off the lid. Inside lay a small, white envelope. Tilting his head, he opened it. It was the Christmas card Veers had almost given him nearly a month ago. The man's smile faded as he opened and read the little document. He was dimly aware that someone had come to lean against the wall beside him. As he silently looked back out into the crowd, chatting and laughing easily in the gentle light of their makeshift Christmas lights, the smile slowly returned to his face.

"General?"

"Yes?"

"Merry Christmas, Max."

"Merry Christmas, Firmus."


End file.
